


What Goes Up

by Kicker



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Drug Use, Established Relationship, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Prompt Fill, Sexual Content, Smut, Trapped In Elevator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2016-06-23
Packaged: 2018-07-16 20:57:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7284469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kicker/pseuds/Kicker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Hancock and his lady love are on their way to Ticonderoga Safehouse for a routine check. Oh no! The elevator's stuck! What will they do to pass the time?</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Goes Up

**Author's Note:**

> from a [series of minifics](http://kickerwrites.tumblr.com/tagged/minific) I've been doing on tumblr, based on a starter phrase and two (or more?) characters.
> 
> Prompt for this one: "Looks like we’ll be trapped for a while…"  
> Pairing: Hancock + F!Sole + elevator, NSFW optional.
> 
> well, why not.
> 
> PS hi Hancock fandom! long time no see.
> 
> PPS pretty sure the elevator in Ticonderoga doesn't have mirrors in it but ~artistic license~ amirite?

**"Looks like we’ll be trapped for a while..."**

He's not sure if that was supposed to sound comforting, but it didn't. Power outages ain't that much of a surprise, in the Commonwealth. Wiring gets frayed, or chewed by molerats. Fusion cores do run out, or get stolen by a certain light-fingered Vault-Dweller. You just don't want it to happen in an elevator. Or when you're in a Railroad safe house, taking a trip to check on some shady friends. Then it's 50/50 whether it's an innocent outage or a sign of an attack.

He listens, carefully. "I don't hear any shootin'," he says. "And the elevator ain't shakin' in its tracks."

"Yet," she says.

Now, he could take that two ways. There's the 'oh shit we're gonna die' kinda way, or the 'let's make this place shake' kinda way.

He prefers the latter, but seems like she might be meaning the former.

"Fuck," she says. "I hate elevators. Oh god. Help me, Hancock. Distract me. Anything."

Okay. Step one. He pulls out his jet inhaler and shakes it. She knows the sound. She grabs his hand, inhales deep.

"Okay," she says, exhaling slow. "That's better."

He sucks in a lungful himself, savoring that first burst of calm in his head.

"Alright," he says. "Now let's see about that distraction."

Step two.

She moves up close, her breath warm on his neck. The jet's still strong, humming in his veins, so it's with infinite slowness that she trails her hand down his chest, over his stomach, and starts toying with the scarf he's using for a belt.

"Naw," he says, catching her hand. "This is for _you_."

He spins her round, slow-motion, like an elegant little dance that ends up with her back pressed against the wall. His thigh's between hers, the fabric of her pants rough against his. Shame she's not wearing one of her pretty dresses, or he could just pull it up and fuck her into the wall rightaway. But you can't dress everyday for the unlikely possibility of being trapped in an elevator, specially not with the most charming ghoul in the Commonwealth, so pants it is.

He feels his way down to her waist, unbuckles her belt, and pops open the buttons of her pants with slow but nimble fingers. In response she sighs and brushes her hip up against his crotch, which is nice and all but very distracting.

And that's _his_ job.

He loosens her pants, pulls them down a bit to give a little leeway. He can't just pull 'em off her, cos the elevator could start moving at any moment and then where would they be, except for half-naked and giggling like idiots in front of a group of horrified synths. This place is supposed to be a safe house, after all. Don't want to expose the poor innocent souls to chem-fuelled ghoul-fucking this soon out of the Institute.

Well. It does have a certain appeal.

He slides his hand into her pants, over her panties for the moment, just to test her out. Those panties are damp, and hot, and she lets out the cutest little sigh as his fingers brush over her.

"Hold on," she says, her voice low and husky.

He lets her go.

There's a couple of clicks and an odd metallic sound, then a bright light shines out of the Pip-Boy that's usually on her arm but is now just lying in her hands. She kneels down to place it over the other side of the elevator, angling it so it lights the space without blinding them. She resumes her position next to him, pressed against the mirrored panels of the elevator wall. Behind her, around them, a thousand copies of the pair of them reflect against each other and off into the distance.

She's watching herself in those reflections. Watching him. And the look of sheer want on her face, directed at _him_ , makes his heart about want to burst.

That and his pants, too.

"Well, sunshine," he says. "Are you ready for your distraction now?"

She nods, and presses a kiss onto his cheek as he shuffles her pants down, low enough that they'll stay up, high enough that if the elevator were to start moving right now, he could drag 'em up for her like nothing sordid had been going on at all. The panties go down with them, so he's got access to all the important bits. He reaches down his hand again, just circling her clit to start, then pushing back to dip his fingertips into her. She pushes down toward them, eager to get them inside her.

He don't give them to her, not yet.

He drops to his knees, and tugs down her pants some more. She's just managing to balance herself on the handrail, her elbows hooked over, her hands spread out, clutching it tight. She's looking down at him with an air of glorious anticipation. Man, he loves that look. It's the parted lips, the hooded eyes, the rapid rise-and-fall of her chest. It's her hips pushing out to meet him as he gets close, as though they were magnetized or some such.

He tosses his hat to one side. It's only going to get in the way.

He presses her clit with his thumb, then lets her see his tongue as he touches it to her for the first time. She lets out another of those cute lil sighs, which turns into a full-body gasp-and-shudder as he accompanies a good solid lap with a couple of fingers up inside her. She is wet as hell and ready to blow, and if he didn't know better he'd think she was enjoying the high-risk situation.

Oh wait... that's exactly what it is.

A new wave of jet passes over him, takes him into a sort of trance. He drifts off, a little, hypnotised by his own little routine, tracing his tongue over her clit, curling his fingers to find the right spot inside her, all at a slow and leisurely pace that can't possibly be enough for her.

But it is, apparently.

"Fuck," she says, her voice ragged. "Don't stop."

He pulls back his head. "What was that?" he asks, still gently stroking her with those fingers. "I didn't quite catch that."

"Don't fucking stop," she growls, unhooking an arm from the handrail, getting her hand around the back of his head, and pulling him back in.  
  
Well. Thus encouraged, he sucks on her clit, hard, gives her another finger, not curling them around so much now, more letting her ride them as she wants. The closer she gets, the more delicious she tastes, or maybe that's the jet talking again.

"Fucking christ," she says, through clenched teeth, and a couple of seconds later her pussy's clenching around his fingers. Her legs are shaking like she's having trouble standing, and he fuckin' hopes she is because if you don't end up on the floor after a good time then it wasn't really that good a time.

He gives her a little more of the same, just until her aftershocks quit squeezing his fingers, and her hand comes down to his collar to pull him back up. He sucks one of his fingers clean himself, then gives her the next two, the feel of her hot tongue on his skin heading straight for his pants. And she pulls him close, so her body's pressed against his dick, which also goes straight for his pants, funnily enough.

"This elevator still ain't movin'," he says.

"True," she says, her cheek pressed against his, her breath fast over his ear, or what's left of it.

"How're you feelin'?" he asks.

She nods, and gives him one of those wry smiles. "Pretty good," she says.

As if she can tell what he's angling at, she lowers her hands to his pants, and unbuttons them.

"You seem a little on edge," she says, softly. "I think you might be in need of a distraction, too."

"I surely am," he says.

"How do you want it?" she asks.

He could just let her jerk him off like this, it'd be quick and efficient. But now he knows exactly how hot and wet she is, he can't think of anything finer than burying his dick in there and feeling it on a part of him that's a little more sensitive than his fingers.

He doesn't normally like to do her from behind, seems undignified. And part of it is that if she ain't looking at him, she might not be thinking of him. But here, with reflections all around, and the convenience? He can make an exception.

About those mirrors, though. A thousand Hancocks, fucking a thousand Vault-Dwellers.

Now ain't _that_ a thought.

"Turn around," he says.

She bites her lip, and complies. She grips onto the handrail, and pushes her ass right out toward him.

He gives his dick a few strokes while he looks at her, all thousand of her, ass out, pussy soaking wet for and because of him. Beautiful sight. He lines himself up and dives on in, right to the hilt, and it is just as glorious as he'd imagined.

He knows that she's no different inside to any of the other folk he's screwed, but it sure does feel that way, all warm, and slick, so much more than anyone else. Maybe it's more than the detail of her pussy. Maybe it's her ass, so peachy smooth and soft. He gives it a good squeeze, both hands, squashing those hands between himself and herself, leaning forwards over her back to get her attention.

"Have I ever told you how much I love your ass?" he asks.

She looks at him in the mirror, fuck that's hot. "All the time," she says.

"I really do love it," he says. "I could just stay like this all day."

He's obviously still hitting some funtime spot inside her, even with the shallow little thrusts he can manage with his hands in the way, because she gasps and shakes and clenches around his dick.

And that is an _excellent_ sign.

He slides his hands in under her shirt, grabs a hold of her tits, another part of her that's peachy and soft and beautiful to touch. She loves them being handled too, one of her most sensitive parts, so she moans and pushes into his hands, while simultaneously trying to push herself back on his dick.

A glorious dilemma, if ever there were one.

He resolves it, in part, he's nice like that, by moving one hand to dive it on down into her pants again, or at least where her pants would be if they weren't sliding down her thighs right now. He spreads his fingers around himself, just pressing his palm against her clit for the moment, pulling her back and helping to steady her. And he moves his other hand too, which makes her say 'oh' with regret, but stroking that hand up and down her back and into her hair makes her shift and keep on catching his eye in that mirror.

Maybe he had been a little hasty, breaking all of the mirrors in the State House.

It's gettin' pretty hard to concentrate, to be honest, so he needs to bring this to a satisfyin' close. He drags his fingers back, sets them on her clit again, and damn if she doesn't start to blow again the second that he does. Her head drops down, her hair all over the place, and she reaches back, trying to grab his waist and pull him in harder. She starts this little wail, breathy at first, getting louder until it ends in a single 'fuck'.

Now she's clenching around his dick, partly from the orgasm which looked fucking good, _you're welcome darlin'_ , and partly from shifting on her feet trying to keep herself upright.

"I'm gettin' awful close," he says, with some effort.

"Okay," she says, still breathless, still grinding herself back against him. He wants to let go inside her, and she wants it too, but this ain't the place to make a mess like that. She pulls away, regretful like, and pulls her pants back up.

Now she drops to her knees, pumping his dick with her hand before taking him into her mouth, swirling her tongue around the head, sliding it down the length. He just barely restrains himself from fucking into her mouth, he knows she doesn't like that - well, if it happens without warning, anyhow - and just lets her take as much of him as she wants.

"Oh fuck," he says. "Fuck me."

His whole lower half seizes up, his knee half throws itself out with the jerk of his hips as he comes, hands gripped tight on the handrail either side of her head, feet either side of her knees. She swallows it down, sucking him hard, and making him come just a little harder even while he's in the middle of doing it. Not just a smart mouth, a fuckin' miracle mouth.

Then the lights flicker back on, and the elevator starts to move.

"Holy shit," he says, stroking a hand through her hair. "You made the world move, how'd you do that?"

She wipes her mouth and rests her head against his hand. "I'm just that good," she says. "Now get your pants back up, quick."

"You think I care who sees me?" he says, leaning back against the other wall. "Hoo boy. No way. Those doors are gonna open and I'm gonna point at you and say 'look what she did to me, I'm sucked dry, fuckin' vampire over here'. I'm emptier than I was after that time on the Prydwen."

She's looking up at him with a quizzical expression on her face. "Which time on the Prydwen?"

"The one when the asshole in the coat threatened to throw me in the sea," says Hancock.

"Oh," she says, with a grin she can't hold back. "The one when we broke into his quarters and fucked on his bunk?"

"Yeah," he says. "That one. And then I'm gonna tell 'em never to piss you off or put you in an enclosed space."

She raises an eyebrow.

"Well," he says. "If they do, I volunteer for guard duty. Someone's gotta keep an eye on ya."

He does then pull up his pants and rearrange himself appropriately, replacing his hat on his head and ensuring that it sits at just the right jaunty angle. And he checks on her; perfectly demure, if a little sticky with sweat. Her bloodshot eyes and faintly dazed expression tell him they forgot at least one important thing, which is the precautionary hit of Rad-X. She must have taken a dose of rads before she'd picked him up at the State House and not said anything, which is just like her.

The elevator jerks to a halt. Then, with a gentle ping, the doors open to reveal three Railroad agents standing there with pistols at the ready.

"Stand down," says one, gesturing to the others. "These guys are okay."

"Are you alright?" says another. "We heard shouting."

She averts her eyes, and rubs her arm.

Hancock pats her shoulder. "Missy here don't like enclosed spaces," he says. "She got a little panicky, but I sorted her out."

"If you're sure," says the agent.

She nods, and gives them a weak smile. "So," she says, getting back to business. "How are things here?"

She goes off with two of the agents, talking about super-secret Railroad stuff. He lets her go; less he knows, probably the better.

The last agent hangs back too, and gives him The Look.

Hancock gives him The Look back, accompanied by an extremely wide grin.

The agent shrugs and starts to walk off.

"Hold on," says Hancock, inspecting his non-existent fingernails. "Don't suppose you guys have any spare Rad-X, do ya? You know. For the way down."


End file.
